


Time Enough

by Jemisard



Series: Coda [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemisard/pseuds/Jemisard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the last two left, it seems only fitting that Spock be with him at the end. (Character death from old age)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Enough

"No parent should live to see their child's grave."

He stood in front of her grave, hands clasped on his walking stick. His head was bent, whispy white hair drifting in the wind.

"It is cold, Doctor. You should not be out here on your own."

"Bah." He waved a hand. "You mean out here on my own in my condition. There's nothing wrong with me, Spock. I'm just old. Older than you."

"Yes. I, however, am half Vulcan. I have long accepted I would outlive my companions." He stepped up alongside his old friend, head bowed respectfully for the dead woman they were here to acknowledge.

"Doesn't make it any easier though, does it? Watching everyone die around you. Your friends. Your family." His voice weakened further. "Dammit, Spock. What's the point in living to a hundred and forty if you bury everyone who mattered?"

Spock did not reply. He recognised the rhetorical question for what it was, the emotional hurt of a man who was nearing the welcomed end. Instead, he brought his hand to rest on his friend's shoulder, meeting the still bright gaze that looked up to him.

"What's going to keep you going when I'm gone, Spock?"

Spock smiled slightly. "I am Vulcan, Doctor. I will keep going because it is only logical to do so. As it is logical for you to return inside now, before your condition worsens due to the climate."

"Hobgoblin," Leonard said fondly. "All right, I'll even let you help me inside, since it will make you feel useful."

"On the contrary," Spock said as he took Leonard's arm to help him back. "I feel nothing."

"Sure. And I'm ready to dance the conga."

**

As the Starfleet Admiral of Medicine, McCoy was entitled to a large pension which could have sustained him in comfort and care in any of the exclusive and expensive areas of any major planet.

Instead, he lived in a rebuilt a comfortable ranch in Georgia, looking over the plains he had grown up in. None of his awards or medals were on display, just holos of his family, his friends. His daughter, Joanna, who passed away two years ago at the age of a hundred and three. Pavel and Hikaru, killed when their ship came under attack and they stayed behind to allow the younger crew to escape. Scotty, gone and missing for many years after a transporter accident. Nyota, passed away in her home surrounded by her nieces and nephews. Christine had gone to a virus while on world, trying to treat the epidemic that would claim her as a victim.

And Jim. Jim who vanished without trace or record. It had been like a knife in the stomach, a pain that faded to a dull ache that Spock refused to acknowledge and Leonard didn't speak of. They never needed to verbalise it; they both knew it was there. They had been too close, too many mind melds and too much time together to not be acutely aware of how the other felt, even if would never be expressed.

Leonard settled himself in his armchair, his eyes closing. Spock hung up their coats and set the temperature higher for the time being, to a comfortable thirty five centigrade. "Are you hungry?"

"No. Though I'd murder a tea and whiskey."

"Doubtful. Life is required for the act of murder." He held back the quirk of amusement as he strode to the kitchen to make the desired beverage.

"Spock, stop being a pedantic know it all. You know what I mean."

"Yes, Leonard. I know what you mean." He poured hot water into Leonard's mug and added whiskey, bringing his own tea out as well on a small tray. "You appear fatigued. You should not have walked to Joanna's grave on your own."

"Dammit, what's the point in being alive if I can't do what I want? I'm a hundred and forty, if I want to walk to my daughter's grave, I'll damn well do it." He broke into coughing, breath wheezing as he struggled to control it.

Spock did not watch. Leonard was uncomfortable with his infirmity being observed, so Spock had learned to simply look at the holos until the coughing receded and he heard the sigh that meant that Leonard had begun to drink.

"I'm not going to last a lot longer. I'm going to enjoy what time I have left," the weakening voice said.

Spock looked to him and nodded the once.

"How long are you planning on staying, Spock?"

Leonard had no one else. He could hire nurses undoubtedly, but they simply be a continuous line of changing people unable to take his gruff manner and willful behaviour. Spock had no one left, just his world and the growing peace with the Romulans.

"A month, perhaps. I will be required back at Vulcan in a month." His estimates gave Leonard no more than another fortnight of life.

"You've already been here three months, Spock."

"I am aware of this. However, I find a lack of human irrationality and emotional outbursts on Vulcan."

"Sentimental bastard."

"Vulcans are not sentimental, Doctor." He sipped his tea, watching as Leonard's eyes slipped shut, the cup beginning to slide from his fingers.

Leaning forwards, he caught the cup and set it aside. He laid a blanket over Leonard's lap and sat beside him while he slept, hand on his arm and listening to the wind outside.

**

As it happened, two weeks had been a generous estimate. Two nights later, Spock was woken by the soft sound of the medical alarm, beckoning him to Leonard's room next door.

He entered the room to find Leonard awake but unmoving. He was paler than ever, bleached white against his blue sheets but his eyes as vividly blue as ever, still sharp and focused. Spock turned off the alarm and scanned the reports from the computer.

A stroke. His body was entering paralysis. His breathing was slower and his heart erratic but holding.

"You are dying," he said softly. "Do you wish me to call-" He trailed off, looking down to Leonard.

No. He didn't want anyone else here. It was a pointless gesture.

Spock knelt by the bed, closing his hand on Leonard's. "I am here. I will not leave you, Leonard."

He could feel Leonard's emotions, the discomfort, the concern. The relief that under cut it all.

"Do not concern yourself for me. I will be all right when you are gone."

Vulcan stoicism demanded it was not logical grieve a life well lived. Yet... Yet he still felt the alien strange prickle in his eyes of tears.

Leonard looked back at him, unspoken words in his eyes. Spock nodded and brought his other hand up, one holding Leonard's hand, the other resting fingers softly at his temple, his jaw and next to his nose. "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

It was too easy, his mind so intimately familiar with this one that the words were just ceremony and the touch familiar rather than needed.

 _I didn't want to outlive you_ , McCoy thought. _But I didn't want to put you through this._

 _You put me through nothing, Leonard. I am honoured to be here with you now_. He squeezed Leonard's hand softly. _I would choose no other outcome_.

 _I'm glad you're here_.

Spock could feel the sincerity of it, the warmth of Leonard's affection and respect. _I am... glad, also, to spend these last moments with you_.

_I love you, you green blooded, pointy eared hobgoblin. You've been the best thing in my life aside from Joanna._

Spock nodded, leaning down to press his brow to Leonard's. "And you for me, Doctor." He felt Leonard's mind slip away.

He didn't move for a long time, eyes closed and still touching Leonard.


End file.
